Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,91
door. Captain Fane and Commander Rip are at the front of the room, sitting at a small, two-person table where they can look out at the long benches before them, their backs facing me.
The commander has his helmet off, but at this angle, I’m unable to see his face. I can rule out the horns, though. Instead, all I see is thick, short black hair on top of his head.
“I’ll just go grab more stuff from the kitchens,” I mumble, turning to walk away.
Unfortunately, my guard dog follows, so I don’t get a chance to slip away, not that I was expecting anything to be that easy.
When I make it back to the galley, I’m barely through the door when something comes flying at my face. I duck, hearing the splat of a rag landing on the wall where my face just was.
“Get to cleaning,” Cook barks from the other end of the room.
I suppress a sigh before pulling off my one remaining glove and slipping it into my dress pocket. I pick up the wet rag and start scrubbing the long countertop, surreptitiously working on my ribbons all the while.
Finally, with my back hunched over and sweat gathering at my neck, I get a knot undone. My heart races at the small but worthy victory. I chance a look over my shoulder, but the two pirates aren’t looking at my back. Cook is too busy eating his meal alone in the corner, and my guard dog is now picking at his teeth with the same knife he cleaned his nails with.
Head facing forward again, I continue to scrub, continue to unknot. Persistence. It just takes persistence.
I’m almost through scouring the place when Polly comes in, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shiny. “They want more ale,” she says dully, her tone beaten flat like overworked dough.
“What do I look like, a serving wench?” Cook barks at her. “Go fucking get it, then.”
Polly looks at a loss, so I quickly straighten up and toss the rag down. “It’s over here,” I tell her, leading the way.
She follows me to the pantry where I show her the tankard and the last remaining pitchers. I feel her gaze on me, the questions brimming as she glances at me from the corner of her eyes. “Can you use those things? To hurt them? To escape?” Her question is no more than a hum, secrets spoken with barely a breath, but I know what she means.
I don’t dare look over my shoulder at the pirates to see if they’re watching us. “No. The captain knotted them. I can’t get them out yet.”
She breathes out through her nose, a small sound of disappointment, a deflation of hope rushing out.
“I need to bring more ale than this,” she says, voice at normal level now as she hefts the full pitchers in her arms. “Can you carry the other two?”
I hesitate for a moment, but then nod and fill two more. Together, we carry the pitchers out, Cook glaring at us as we go, the guard dog on our heels.
When we’re just outside the dining room, I stop. “I’m not allowed inside.”
Polly looks over at me with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’ll send someone else out to grab those.”
She takes a breath before going inside, trying to hold her head up high, trying to keep an easy smile on her face. She barely even flinches when one of them smacks her ass as she leans over to pour for him. A performance. It’s all a performance.
The room is rowdy and loud, the pirates obviously deep into their cups, the food already eaten. I see Polly head over to Rissa, saying something in her ear in passing. Rissa glances over at me before she rushes over to grab the last two pitchers.
“They sure do drink a lot,” I say quietly as I pass them over to her.
“Good for us,” she murmurs with a wink. “If we can get them drunk enough, some of them might pass out. One less bastard to deal with tonight.”
She turns away with a sultry smile plastered on her face, her act ready to appease them, ready to work the room to the best of her ability so she can come out unscathed.
Like she told the others earlier, they’re professionals, and it shows in every smirk, every tease, every sway of their hips. Fawns forced to gratify the predators. To entice them to watch, to appreciate. Persuading them to not harm, not bite.